


While I slip away (with you), There's nothing that I'd rather do

by ImberReader



Series: Tomorrow (with you) [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because I AM making that a tag dammit, Brienne realizes taking time for yourself isn't succumbing to sloth, Domesticity afoot, F/M, Gratuitous cat propaganda, Jaime as Brienne's Sworn Sword in aftermath of Long Night, Step by step learning and building of what can be a happily-ever-after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/pseuds/ImberReader
Summary: As Brienne settles in her wedded life on Tarth, one of her favorite discoveries is Jaime's new habit of what she deems cat naps. Together, they continue exploring what a life with quiet, warm moments lived just for sake of living and loving can be.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Tomorrow (with you) [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734799
Comments: 18
Kudos: 99
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Week 2020





	While I slip away (with you), There's nothing that I'd rather do

**Author's Note:**

> Part of Jaime x Brienne week 2020, particularly October 1st's theme of Sloth/Diligence. 
> 
> Much thanks to my ever-lovely Beta [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde) who salvaged it as she always does.
> 
> Title from lovely [Lovers do](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lWkM8UHCqWE) by The Brummies that I didn't write this to and honestly didn't do the song's concept justice because I just slapped them together in rush to find a title. #exposed

It had been nine moons since Brienne had bade Lady Sansa one final farewell as her swornsword and almost five since she and her husband had been welcomed back to Tarth, to stay. Now that the initial commotion on the island and inside her heart had died down, she could see the details of her life with clarity and appreciate them for what they truly were. 

For Brienne, one of the most exciting discoveries was Jaime's new habit of what she deemed cat naps. It was not exhilarating in the way facing a new opponent was, it was more like the quiet and content joy of finding what kind of sunset today will exhale in its goodbye.

(That, too, was a thing she had started to learn, now that the future in which she could watch them seemed both infinite and yet so very contained, compared to how she had seen it as a child.)

She liked trying to guess where she'll discover him napping next - so far it had been several places in the meadows and the Evenfall's gardens, on the bench by the training yard last week, a few times on the beach after swimming and sun had taken its toll on him, now and then by the lighthouse that he was so fond of (she was, too, more than ever since that bright midday they’d promised themselves to each other and he’d ignited a light in her, making her almost feel like the lighthouse he had compared her to), and once in the library even.

He had been sitting in the chair by the window, sunlight pouring the gold that years had taken back into his hair, a book on Tarth's  taxations  open in his lap - he must've been reading it to help her make sense of salted salmon import tax after she had complained about it the day before, even though she knew letters often danced for him. It hadn’t surprised her, exactly - back in Winterfell, he had always been restless and in need, eager even to do something, as small as it may be, and she thought he was learning to be at rest just as much as she was.

Her heart had swelled heavy and warm in her chest at these thoughts and she had stood there, drinking in the sight and the possibility of it like he seemed to drink in the sun every time he found a sunny spot to nap in - or the nap and sunshine found him, she was not sure.

Eventually, her shifting to lean against the desk had dragged Jaime back to the surface of consciousness, but watching him open his eyes slowly and smile at her instead of straightening with a start had been a special kind of pleasure on its own. "Ser Brienne," he had grinned at her, lazy and sharp like a glimpse of a cat's claws when it stretches, "it seems your island has tamed this lion."

Brienne had come forward to run hand down his bearded cheek then, biting back a smile. "I see no lion here, only a self -satisfied house cat." His eyes had flashed then and oh, she had known in an instant he'd not let this slide. The book had landed on the corner of the desk with a soft thump and a moment later, his arm wound around her waist.

"I may be old," Jaime had said, making her frown at him. There was less than a decade between them, but after so (too) many wars fought on battlefields and remnants of hearts, she couldn't help but think of men who had faded well before their time in the quiet aftermaths, every time he spoke of his age. He didn't let the thought settle cool between her shoulder blades, though, carrying on. "But not enough to not take offense." 

And then he had pulled her into his lap (and later lifted her on the desk), proving his assertions with notable dedication and energy.

So, truly, finding Jaime's napping places was all sorts of exciting.

Today's spot seemed to be her lap. They were sitting in a large oak tree's shade, sunlight dancing dappled light across Jaime's relaxed features as she ran her fingers through his hair again and again. She could tell by his breathing that he wasn't _quite_ asleep yet, but would be soon. He never slept as deeply or as calmly as in these naps - even in their bed, there was often tension in him as if he was ready to wake and grab his sword. (She knew, because she felt it, too.)

They soothed it away the best they could, with touches that were for comfort or for pleasure, and quiet conversations. There was so much they've never told anyone, because they thought it unneeded or because they had no one to tell it to, but the relief that came as these words melted along with shadows into the sunrise, said otherwise

Sometimes it was not enough and she rose with tension, wading through the feeling like she still needed to prove _something_ to everyone, the servants and the fishermen and her father, to whom the War of Dawn was far and mythical and more a figment of imagination than something tangible, to whom her knighthood meant far less than her skill to secure enough food and goods to last through a harsh winter. It stung and drove her to pour over books and ledgers, and sit in meetings and ride from village to village, like the spurs of a determined rider chasing a horse onward. But time helped, as did having routine to her days, which was already worn to round corners through the months.

These gilded, warm days, finding Jaime's nap spots was part of it. It had started by accident, at first seeking him out to have lunch together when she had the mind to have some, only to find him fast asleep, face relaxed in a way that made her breath catch. Now, it was a well-known secret and servants would often tell her which direction Ser Jaime had went in when she passed them in the corridors, and even her father would inquire if it wasn't time to see what sunny spot her husband had hunted down today, seemingly glad to have an excuse to give her a break.

Some quiet days like today, she ended up joining him to let an hour or two slip by buoyant and joyful like a paper boat on a sunlight's river.

Her Septa would call this laziness, deem her slothful, ungrateful child, just as she had when Brienne had run away to nap beneath this very tree, or clamber over rocks and chase the waves. But she was learning that taking time to _be_ , to rest was a sort of diligence too, a kind of responsibility she held toward herself. If she drove herself to exhaustion beyond sense like she did the first months here, which made her sharp where she needed to listen and dull where she needed to be clever, how could she learn and how could she lead? There would be times for that, too, if a crisis struck. When she became the Evenstar. Brienne misliked to think of it.

In truth, she recalled her Septa's spiteful words less and less these days, enough that when they did echo with malice it took her by surprise. But her shield, crafted by soft whispers of love and quiet moments like these and the approving smile of her father, held strong and the ghosts of words beat themselves into exhaustion against it, retreating until another time. There were bruises on her hands, from holding onto it so strongly, but it was nothing compared to the wounds she used to bear after these confrontations. Jaime always seemed to sense these days and was quick to soothe them with his kisses and or to tease till her fond annoyance made her forget about the sting.

"Brienne," he interrupted her thoughts and she made a little, inquiring 'hm?' sound as she brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead. He had cut it some, months ago, but now it was growing long again and she couldn't quite get enough excuses to feel soft strands trickling through her fingers.

"If I _am_ a cat, then a stray that is finally learning the little pleasures of having a home."

It still took her by surprise, sometimes, the way he paid attention to her and thought of the things she said, for days. It used to bring unease to her, because she had always felt clumsy with her words and he never hesitated to peel and tear all that she said (and didn't) apart to dig teeth and claw in the exposed flesh beneath. Nowadays, Brienne marveled that he would look still, for no reason other than keeping it safe and gentle in his hands.

"You had a home before, Jaime," she told him, not chastising, but reminding that she had not been the start and end of him or the good that he's had, or has been.

He turned his head, nuzzling into her hand that was cupping his cheek: "I had houses and places I lived, before." Jaime looked up at her then and the silence sang the _before you_ softer, yet more all-encompassing than the wind rustling leaves above. There were no words she knew the shape of to say in return, so she leaned down and pressed a soft and lingering kiss to his lips, then forehead.

After all, what is a home or a lighthouse without its cat, if not a building that doesn't quite know its soul?

With that thought, Brienne leaned against the bark and let the oak's solidity and Jaime's weight in her lap anchor her deeper in peace and then, into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Gratuitous cat propaganda may feel a bit strong for this particular piece, but there are more in the plans and I feel like this sets up/leads into it well. Also I just want to make it a tag for my works and you gotta start _somewhere_.


End file.
